Inheritance
by BlackBlade0001
Summary: It all started with my grandfather, or rather, it may have started with me and then my grandfather. It's complicated, I have a weird life, you see. Anyways, I think it started with a pocket watch or maybe before that...and then I was dead. Doctor!Harry
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: **Nope, sadly enough (at least for me) I own neither Harry Potter nor Doctor Who. I am merely a writer with far too much time on her hands and a rather large fascination with both fandoms. I am also not in any way, shape or form, profiting from writing this stories.

**Inheritance**

_By BlackBlade_

Prologue

Charlus Potter was a simple man. He was rich, he was powerful (both politically and magically, thank you very much) and basically had everything a man could possibly want; but in the end he was still a simple man who enjoyed the simple things in life. He loved his wife very much and adored his son enough to spoil the boy just a tad little bit, he enjoyed a good cup of tea in the morning when he read the paper and sometimes a nightcap when he'd had a long day at the Ministry.

Charlus Potter was a man who had enough material goods to make any thief's hands go twitchy and itchy, but Charlus himself cared almost nothing for them, other than the fact that he would be leaving them to his precious family when he finally passed away. He cared not for the gold at his Gringotts vault, nor for the priceless heirlooms and antiques that decorated his manor.

The one material thing Charlus Potter truly cared about was an old silver pocket watch. It had belonged to his father and been given to him on his seventeenth birthday as was custom for young wizards. Charlus had never opened the watch, he didn't care to open it, just guard it and keep it.

And then Charlus, simple, family-loving man that he was, passed away along with his wife. His son James Potter was still a rather young lad, barely out of Hogwarts and still with a lot to learn about life.

James Potter was a good man. He looked rather a bit like his father, with the same perpetually messy hair (though James's was black whereas Charlus's was brown), brown eyes and charming smile, he even had that sense of adventure and mischief that Charlus had experienced when he was younger. James also inherited the vault, the heirlooms, the manor and the watch.

James Potter was a good man, even though he had been a bit of a spoiled brat when he was younger (and there were quite a load of people willing to testify for that, apparently), who also loved his wife and son very, very much. James loved his family so much that he decided to get involved with the Order of the Phoenix, an organization that fought against the most powerful dark wizard of the age, Lord Voldemort. His wife Lily, of course, could not be expected to be far from her husband (nor would James ever risk her wrath by telling her she could not go). And so the couple took part in the fight against the Dark Lord, the fight for a better future for all of wizardkind.

James and Lily did this because they were good people and were completely against the awful ideas and massive bloodshed that the Dark Lord represented, but more than all that, they did it because they wanted a better tomorrow in a better world for their son, Harry Potter.

Harry Potter was virtually a clone of his father (and so partially one of his grandfather), though he did have his mother's bright green eyes. Harry was a happy baby whose world consisted on when the next feeding would be, when Mummy and Daddy would come to play with him and how many times he could get his uncle Siri (sometimes also known to Padfoot the Magnificent, for some reason baby Harry didn't understand) in trouble with his Mummy.

Harry was a happy baby and a good child; he delighted in the company of his family and would let them know by giggling madly and throwing his tiny little arms around in wild expressions of happiness. Harry loved his family, and his family loved him. But then that night came, October 31st (though Harry himself didn't know this at the time, for he had no concept of the calendar yet), and Harry's happy little family was torn apart. The Dark Lord came to their house and murdered the boy's parents in cold blood before trying to kill the boy himself.

Only he couldn't and the Dark Lord died instead, or so most people thought anyway.

And Harry was left alone in the world, even though he was sent to live with his aunt and uncle. It could never be said, even by the most kind or the most positive or even the most naive sort of people that Mr. and Mrs. Dursley cared for their nephew. So Harry grew up alone and miserable, away from even the other children at school because he was somehow different, somehow wrong, somewhat a freak.

But then Hagrid came and told him he was a wizard. It was the happiest day Harry could ever remember. He was a wizard, and he could do magic, and there were others like him, and his parents hand't been drunks, and there was a school and he was going there to learn magic. Hagrid was even kind enough to take Harry to Diagon Alley were they would do his school shopping.

They went to all sorts of places, Madam Malkin's for his robes, Ollivander's for his wand, the Apothecary for his potions ingredients and assorted items, Flourish and Blott's for his school books and so on and on. Oh, and they also went to Gringotts Bank to get some of his inherited money to do said shopping. Harry was very much like Charlus in that he didn't care for material goods (though his case might be more because he'd never had any material goods and had been trained from early age not to ask for any). The gold in his vault did surprise him, but other than its importance to get him through school (because let's be honest, his aunt and uncle would not spend one quid on his education) he didn't care about it one bit.

There was, of course, another thing at Gringotts that was legally Harry's that the boy would very much care about and wish to have, but it was hidden away with instructions from James Potter to be sent to his son on his seventeenth birthday. It was tradition in the Potter family, you see, to gift to one's son an old but still shiny silver pocket watch.

**AN: **So how was it? It's only just the prologue so we have yet to go into any deep explanations and the like, but I'll get there. Liked it, didn't like it? Let me know in your reviews, which I will appreciate very, very, very much.

See you next chapter!


	2. A Gift

**Disclaimer: **Nope, sadly enough (at least for me) I own neither Harry Potter nor Doctor Who. I am merely a writer with far too much time on her hands and a rather large fascination with both fandoms. I am also not in any way, shape or form, profiting from writing this stories.

**Inheritance**

_By BlackBlade_

A Gift

The world seemed to be a little bit darker, drearier, each passing day. The very air around them seemed to carry not just a rather disturbing chill (strange in that it was summertime) but the promise of some grim ending to it all. Everywhere he looked he could see, if only just for a moment before they hid it away, the worry and fear in everyone's eyes. He knew what it was because he could see it every time he looked into a mirror, in his own green eyes, worry and fear.

It was July 31st, his birthday. Even with the party and the cake and everything Mrs. Weasley had done to try and make this a bright, cheerful day, the outside world and its sorrow and grimness still managed to find him. This time it was in the shape of Minister Scrimgeour and the items he brought, inheritance from Dumbledore himself. Oh, Harry had deep and honest affection for his now deceased Headmaster, and would have normally loved anything the man had gifted him. But now, the snitch that would not open (not until 'the Close' at least, whatever that meant) was a reminder that the man was dead, that he had also left him an impossible job to complete, that the world really was messed up enough to leave its fate in the shoulders of a seventeen year old.

He was now sitting alone in Ron's room, as he shared the ginger's abode whenever he visited the Burrow, holding the golden snitch in his hand and turning it every once in a while, his eyes focused on it but not really taking in the sight, his mind faraway and lost in not-so-happy thoughts.

It was actually a bit of a relief to be broken out of his rather pessimistic mood by the sudden arrival of a very regal eagle owl. The bird soared through the open window and landed gracefully in the headboard of Ron's bed, having just dropped a parcel in the mattress, before sticking out its leg to show the piece of parchment tied there.

Harry, who after so many years of being part of the wizarding world was used to this usually unusual way of delivering post, quickly moved to untie the letter and give the owl one of the treats he kept in his trunk just for this sort of occasion (preciously also used to calm Hedwig whenever he feathers got ruffled by some perceived offense, but he was _not_ going to go there, _not_ going to think about his dead owl who'd proven to be a true friend).

The letter was from Gingotts Bank, which was very much unusual as he had never received anything from them before. It was a simple notification that they had send a parcel under specific instructions from James Potter, to be delivered on Harry's seventeenth birthday. The boy's grim thoughts vanished almost instantly as a wide grin split his face and his eyes brightened in happiness. He had gift, a birthday gift from his father, the first that he could ever remember.

Without thinking much about it, he tore open the paper, only to find a dark wooden box with the Potter family crest carved on its top. His fingers traced the crest softly, almost afraid to erase it should he press too hard, before the temptation finally won out and he opened the box.

Inside it he found first another letter and then, beneath the paper, a shiny silver pocket watch. He took he watch out of the padded inside of the box and held it reverently in his hands. It was obviously an antique, for it had that feeling of oldness, ancientness that all antiques carried; its front was adorned with cravings of circles everywhere, some over each other in a chaotic pattern that somehow managed to look elegant despite its seeming randomness.

He didn't open the watch though, because he knew the watch was broken and wouldn't open, but even broken it was a precious heirloom and gift from his father and he would treasure it always. Carefully, as though it were made out of glass instead of sturdy silver, he placed the watch back inside the wooden box and turned his attention instead to the letter he had put aside before.

_Dear Harry,_

_Well son, if you find this letter then it means I didn't take it out of the box before you received it which then means that I'm dead. Don't worry about me though, I'm sure death's not all that bad and I'll probably get to watch you grow up from here. Take care of your mother and don't let her get too depressed without me, I don't want either of you to be sad ever in your lives._

_Anyways, if you received this it also means that today is your seventeenth birthday so congratulations son! You are now a young adult Harry and that means that you get to partake in an old Potter family tradition. As you probably know, it's customary to give young wizards a watch on this day and this particular watch has been in the family for who knows how long. My father gave it to me and his father gave it to him and so, I'm not even sure how old the thing is, but it is yours now, to give to your own son when he reaches majority._

_I wish you the best in your life Harry, and I'll be watching out for you as much as I can. Remember to always be happy and live life to its fullest._

_Love,_

_Your father, James Potter._

Harry hadn't even noticed the tears until they fell into the parchment and made little wet stains. He hurried to wipe them off before they further damaged the precious reminder that yes, his father had loved him, had wanted him and had even gone so far as to arrange for a gift to be delivered after his death. He placed the letter back inside the box and once again took out the watch. He contemplated the time device a bit more, for a moment considering trying to open it before he remembered that he couldn't, and then finally placed it in his pocket with as much care as was possible, attaching the silver chain so that even if it somehow fell out of his pocket, he would not lose it. He would never lose it, never ever, for it was one of the last few things he had from his parents.

He closed his eyes, just to wipe the last tears off, just for a moment. And as he did, for just a second he caught just a glimpse of something…something else, different and…otherworldly, a glance of another life. Then, as suddenly as it came it was gone, and he convinced himself he had only imagined it.

He went to sleep that night without the smallest notion of what was to come, not even when the strange dreams came, with the voices and flashes of images; not even when he woke up and could still hear the strange sound, echoing as though half-way real and half-way imagined, the strange grinding noise of something he could not name but knew all the same.

Harry Potter had been marked for Death ever since a Seer had first made that prophecy, in a room of a dirty pub, which set the Dark Lord after him. Yes, Harry Potter had always been destined to die, but this destiny was only made clearer, his time shorter, when he received that pocket watch.

One way or another, Harry Potter was going to die.

**AN: **Not too bad for a first chapter, is it? I'm afraid the first of the action isn't until next chapter so I hope this chapter is not too boring for you all.

Thank you everyone for the reviews, they're truly wonderful to read. I know a lot of you are wondering how can Harry be the Doctor when he was born human, and wouldn't the Doctor have died when his human form did? And is Harry, as a personality and individual separate from the Doctor, going to just disappear? I promise you the answers to all these questions in the very next chapter so stay tuned!

Oh, and just so you all know and in case I mention it later on, I'm using the version of Hedwig's death from the movie because I honestly think it was a better way to go than stuck in a cage and hit by accident.

Another thing, which I should have mentioned in the Prologue, is that this is AU in Doctor Who-verse after the ending of Season 4 of the new series, with the difference in that the Doctor didn't die and regenerate, but instead used the chameleon arch and became human. It will also obviously be AU in Potter-verse sometime during Deathly Hallows, but you'll find out exactly when next chapter so I'm not giving up any hints.

See you all next chapter!


	3. Awakening

**Disclaimer: **Nope, sadly enough (at least for me) I own neither Harry Potter nor Doctor Who. I am merely a writer with far too much time on her hands and a rather large fascination with both fandoms. I am also not in any way, shape or form, profiting from writing this stories.

**Inheritance**

_By BlackBlade_

Awakening

Harry Potter had a whole lot of luck. Problem is that sometime this luck was good and sometimes it was bad. Example: Good luck leads to becoming part of the Quidditch team in First Year, bad luck is almost swallowing the snitch on his first game; Good luck is finding out he has a godfather who is actually innocent of all crimes he's accused of, bad luck is that the Ministry refuses to believe in said innocent man's said innocence; good luck is finding the sword of Gryffindor, bad luck is being stuck in a cellar at Malfoy Manor while his best female friend is being tortured by possibly the craziest psychopathic madwoman ever to grace the British Isles.

Yes, Harry Potter's life was a never ending list of ups and downs. Sadly, right then it looked as though it had gone too deeply down, way past the point of going back up again. Oh yes, Harry was very much sure that he was going to die soon, as soon as the Dark Lord arrived at the Manor probably, most likely, almost definitely.

The worst part was the waiting, waiting in this dark cellar listening to Hermione's screams and knowing that his friends were going to die because he'd been stupid and called Voldemort's name. Harry could actually sort of tolerate waiting for death, he feared it of course as was human nature, but he could stand it, knowing he was going to die; it probably derived from the numerous times he had encountered near-death, and probably helped along by the unbearable exhaustion he felt nowadays, knowing he had to save the world but with no true and clear idea of how to do it. Yes, Harry could live with knowing he was going to die (and wasn't that a rather ironic sentence?) but he could simply not stand even the mere thought of his friends dying because of him, not now and not ever.

It was in this dark cellar, during this dark time, that Harry started to hear voices. Well, not _started_, actually, as he'd been hearing voices for a good part of his life. Anything from basilisks muttering to themselves, to Dark Lords shouting inside his head through whatever connection they shared, to the soft whisperings when he slept, voices of people he didn't know and the sound of an engine that didn't want to start.

Harry had been hearing things for a long time now, and he normally ignored them too; but right then, when all hope seemed lost and the whispering in his head spoke of salvation and light and time and space and a thousand things more, he paid attention, he even allowed himself to be lost to the sound of the whispering, entranced and enchanted by it.

_Time Lord. Time. Space. T.A.R.D.I.S. Companion. Alone. The Last. Human. Not Human. Harry. Not Harry. Open it. Save you. Alone. No Time. Save all of you. Open it. Time Lord. Not Human. Not Harry. Open it. Save them. Save you. The Watch. Open it. __**Doctor!**_

Without even realizing it, Harry had taken out the silver pocket watch, which he had kept on him ever since he'd first received it on his birthday, and was gently stroking its front cover. His green eyes were locked on the time device, his whole world suddenly focused on the old heirloom, but he wasn't seeing it. No, his eyes were looking at a watch but in his mind he was seeing so many things.

_All of Time, All of Space. Life and Death and Rebirth. His Home, burning and left to die. His People, dead forever and ever and never to come back. His Friends, his Companions, scattered all over time and space and even dimensions. His…blue box?_

And then, ignoring the fact that just a few minutes ago he'd _known_, as sure as he knew that the sun rose in the East, that the watch couldn't be opened, he tightened his grip on the silver watch and just opened it.

►►►►►►►►►►►►►►►►►►►►►►►►►►►►►►►►►►►►►►►►►►►►►►►►►►►HPDW◄◄◄◄◄◄◄◄◄◄◄◄◄◄◄◄◄◄◄◄◄◄◄◄◄◄◄◄◄◄◄◄◄◄◄◄◄◄◄◄◄◄◄◄◄◄◄◄◄◄◄

The moment he opened the pocket watch, it was as though the whole of Reality exploded or imploded or whatever and he was left in some Dark Space, alone as though he were the only thing in the universe. There was no Light, and no Sound and no Nothing, his senses useless because there was nothing there to perceive.

And then, just like flicking on a light switch, there was Something. His eyes could suddenly see, and his ears hear and his skin feel. And he found himself in a place he had never ever seen in his life but was somehow as familiar to him as his cupboard under the stairs had been. The place was enormous, with strange coral-like walls and a sort of domed ceiling, and in the center a strange sort of board with all these buttons and levers and cables and _things, _atop which sat a tall pillar that bathed the whole place in a soft green light. It was a strange light, sort of Killing Curse green but not, it was softer, soothing actually and so very _familiar._

''Ah, so you opened the watch, did you?'' Sounded a man's voice, just behind Harry.

The boy jumped almost a foot in the air before turning around so fast he was almost sure he'd at least sprain his neck. The man standing there was tall and thin, dressed in a rather old fashioned suit and long coat, his hair was messy and sticking in every which direction, rather like Harry's actually, and his brown eyes were solely focused on the young wizard.

''Right then, Henry, was it?'' The man said, sounding rather cheerful for a man whose eyes looked so very intent and, unless Harry was very much mistaken, sad and old.

"It's Harry, actually" He responded, somehow insulted that this man who could not be anything other than a figment of his imagination didn't know his name. Imaginary people should know the name of the ones who imagined them, he thought.

"Ah, yes, yes. Harry, Jame's son, right? Yeah, I rather liked James, always good for a laugh that one" The man said, nonchalantly scratching at his ear as he spoke of Harry's dead father.

"You knew him? You knew my father?" And no, that was _not_ hope and longing in his voice, it was merely incredulity that an imaginary person could claim to know a dead person. It was.

"Course I knew your father! I was with him all that time, or rather he was with me or had me, or had a piece of me. It's complicated…very complicated" The man said, now lightly pulling at the hair in the back of his head in frustration.

And didn't that make perfect sense? _Not._ Harry had seen and heard strange and outright bizarre things during his life but this one certainly took the cake. And how was he even supposed to respond to _that_?

Apparently noticing that his current company was not exactly talkative, the strange man (and strange in more ways than just being a stranger to Harry) seemed to decide that it was probably a good idea to start explaining.

"Right well, you see. Ah, I had this watch…weeell it's a watch and more than a watch. It sort of is me, or I was it or something. Eh, well I was in the watch…not my _body_, mind you, just everything else. No, my body became a wizard by the name of Charlus Potter and he went and got married and had a baby, the whole thing. Anyways, since I was still trapped in the watch while Charlus was out there I was passed onto James." He paused for a second, scratching and pulling at his ear a bit more vigorously before continuing. "I was passed to him as both a watch and a genetic code, it's a very complicated thing and humans are not going to understand this sort of transfer for a very, very long time so I'm not even gonna try to explain. So yeah, I was with James and then James died and I only had you left"

Harry's head was spinning rather dizzyingly by the time the man was done with talking, trying to wrap around the bizarre things the stranger, who was apparently not a stranger, was saying.

"So…so, you're like my grandfather or something?" And again, no, that was _not_ hope in his voice, just disbelief.

"Oh, no, goodness no. Charlus was your grandfather. Weeell, Charlus was also sort of a part of me so I guess that makes you sort of my part-grandson or something. Told you it was complicated"

"It wouldn't be if you explained properly" He was starting to loose his patience too, confused and just a tad bit freaked out as he was.

"Alright, but you pay attention cause I'm not going to repeat it. I was just good old me and then I used a chameleon arch, which basically turned me into a wizard even though I wasn't one before, it overwrites one's biology you see, and put away everything I was, memories and thoughts and ideas into the pocket watch. So my wizard self has no idea of who he is and thinks he is in fact Charlus Potter, a man with a history and a family and all. So then Charlus meets Dorea Black, gets married, has a family, lives out his life in perfect happiness and never once opens the watch. That's how it works you see, if he had opened the watch he would have gotten everything inside it back, making me me again! But he didn't so then the only one who could do it was the only one who shared his genetic code, _my_ wizard-version genetic code. That was your father, James. But then James died too and now there's _you._" The man paused again, pointing at Harry as though he were some great new discovery and grinning in a way that would make mad people uneasy…or jealous.

"So, if I open the watch then I…I become you?" Harry said, and he truly, honestly wasn't sure if he was horrified or relieved that someone else could end up living his life for him.

"Well, you sort of opened the watch already, that why we're here right now, talking. Amazing isn't it? That we are sort of two versions of me, or rather one is me and the other is a possible me, and we're _talking_! Amazing!"

Harry wasn't sure if it was amazing at all, weird stuff like this happened to him all the time. Well, maybe not _this_ weird, but still. "So then what? I just become you and I, what, vanish? You take over my body and I just disappear? Is that it? I just die?"

The ear-scratching was back on, and was it just him or did the man suddenly seem unable to look him in the eye?

"No, not really. Weeeell, I mean, not if you're really that much against it. See, the reason I became human in the first place, when I became Charlus, was because I was a bit…well, tired really. I wanted to have a quiet life to live and love and whatnot and I got that for quite a few years, with both Charlus and James. But you, oh, you are something else. Always some danger, always some adventure, always someone to save. You, Harry, you are the most me-like version of me I have ever met!"

In Harry's humble opinion the man sounded quite a bit too happy for the occasion, too cheerful, as though Christmas had come early instead of as if he was about to possess Harry's body and snuff Harry's consciousness out of existence any minute now.

"I'm not sure if that's a compliment or not" The wizard answered drily, somehow keeping the tsunami-like wave of emotions that threatened to burst any moment away from his voice.

"Ah, nonsense! You, me, we are fantastic! I like you Harry Potter and that's why I decided to try and save you…you know, from certain death in a dark cellar?"

And how in all of time and space had Harry even forgotten that? Here he was, talking with some nutter spirit or whatever while his friends could be dying this very moment.

Apparently having noticed his "part-grandson's" imminent panic attack, the man put an arm over the boy's shoulders in an attempt to either comfort or distract him. Maybe both.

"None of that now. The clock, or the watch as it were, is not ticking while we are here. Here is nowhere, not in the physical sense anyway. Here is outside time and space. Here is sort of inside our heads."

Every word that came out of that man's mouth sounded stranger and stranger to Harry, but then this man seemed to be the very dictionary definition of strange so perhaps that was as it should be.

"I remember. You were whispering things into my head, from the watch. Strange things about time and space and nonsense and you said…you said you could save us." Harry had by now wriggled out of the man's half-hug while he spoke and was now pointing a bit accusingly at said strange man.

"Weeeell, yes I did and yes I can. That's why I let you open the watch. See, it's how it works, the owner of the watch, which is the wizard version of me, doesn't even want to open it, not until I, from inside the watch, tell them they can. Otherwise, they just believe it's broken and won't open it, won't even try. It's a psychic thing."

Harry remembered that, yes indeed, just before now he had thought, he had _known_ that the watch wouldn't open. And now that he thought about it more carefully, he'd had this idea ever since he first got the watch, when he first touched it. He never even tried it, he just assumed, he just knew the thing was broken.

And this was starting to creep him out more and more, reminding him quite a bit of that cursed diary that had almost taken Ginny's life. He felt a shiver run down his spine as he backed away from the now perplexed-looking man.

"You, that watch…it's a horcrux, isn't it? You're a horcrux!"

The stranger looked positively insulted at the mere notion.

"Am not! Horcrux, really. I'm not as unimaginative as that, to resort to such things. Plus, before I used the chameleon arch I wasn't even a wizard so I couldn't do magic…wasn't even human now that we come to it. Horcrux! I'm not some mutilated piece of soul and I don't even like killing so no, I am not a Horcrux"

Harry, tired and confused from this whole ordeal, finally decided to accept the man's words as true, sort of.

"Alright then. But you know what a horcrux is so you have to admit that's a bit suspicious. Why would a man who isn't even a wizard know about them?"

"Pfft! Simple, I know everything you know. We are here inside our _shared_ minds, we share knowledge"

"You didn't even know my name, you called me Henry!" The boy pointed out in disbelief.

"Oh, you can't blame me for that, it was just at the beginning of our connection, I hadn't yet assimilated all of your knowledge. Plus I'm terrible with names, really I am, I always forget them. There was this guy, he was called Mickey, like the mouse, nice guy…the man, not the mouse, never met the mouse. Anyways he was Mickey but I was always calling him Ricky and then it turns out that there was this other version of him that _was_ named Ricky, in another universe, parallel to our own. Funny thing, isn't it?"

And now Harry knew for sure that what he had in front of him was a complete and utter nutter, who also happened to probably be the only hope he had of getting his friends out of the death sentence he had brought upon them.

"Ok, yeah, sure. You said you could save them?"

"Yeah, I did. I can even maybe perhaps help you defeat this Voldemort Lordy thingy. You see, what does the big bad Dark Lord have that you don't?" The man walked closer and even poked at Harry's chest as he made his question.

"Power and immortality?" Harry asked, sarcastic and irritated as he smacked the man's arm away from him.

"Nonsense! Power and immortality? You have those! Well, sort of in the immortality case anyway. No, what he has that you don't is experience. The man has like fifty or so years of experience on you."

"Yeah, I know and thank you for reminding me of how absolutely out of my league I am" Again with the sarcasm.

"And what do I have in spades? Experience! Tons and tons of experience that even Voldemort can never even hope to compare with! I, my dear Harry, am over nine hundred years old. Nine hundred years of experience in thousands of worlds all over time. I can be the one to help you win."

And Harry knew, maybe because he really needed to believe it, that the man was telling the truth. If this man, who some part of his consciousness told him was not any sort of ordinary man, could win the war. He had defeated evil before, had been the shinning knight who came to the rescue, had saved people and worlds. He could do it again, he could do what Harry could not.

Harry sighed, resigned and knowing what he had to do, what would be the right thing to do.

"Alright, do it then."

The man tilted his head to one side, looking a bit like a confused puppy. "Do what?"

Harry's eyes narrowed in irritation, but he didn't allow himself to lose his temper, he couldn't afford to.

"You can take over. You know, leave the watch and become whatever you were before. You were the original anyways, grandfather, dad and I were just like copies and safeguards, bodies your consciousness could wake up in. You can take over mine, if you promise you'll save my friends and try to kill Voldemort" Harry said, and for a boy who was basically giving someone permission to kill him…worse even, delete him as though he'd never existed, he was rather calm.

The man stayed quiet for almost a minute, staring at Harry with something akin to respect mixed with exasperation, one eyebrow raised in curiosity. Just when Harry couldn't take the silence anymore, the man spoke again.

"You are willing to sacrifice yourself for them." It wasn't a question. "But I'm not going to just do that, I can't…I don't want to kill you."

Harry flinched and immediately tried to protest, but the man lifted a hand, palm towards Harry, to stop him before he even started.

"I'm not going to kill you, but I am going to help you. You see, you need my memories and my mind, you need me; meanwhile to do anything of worth in the physical world I need your body and your magic, I need you. I could take over and we would become me again, a Time Lord instead of a Wizard. But if I take the process only halfway, then we become we, something new and different. You would still be alive, part of our personality and our memories, and so would I. We would be the same person, a person who is a wizard and also a Time Lord."

Harry didn't even bother asking what a Time Lord was, lest the man go into another wild Mickey Mouse tangent or something. He also didn't want to give himself much time to think about the proposed solution to all his problems, because right now he had no regrets and he didn't want to start finding them and doubts. He didn't need regrets and doubts, he knew what he had to do, and apparently he didn't even have to fully disappear to do it.

"I'll still die, I'll still become something I wasn't before." And apparently, regret and doubt had found him despite his conviction and determination. He was only human, after all.

The man smiled a strange little smile, like sad and happy, old and young, nostalgic and hopeful all at the same time.

"Yeah, and so will I. We'll both die as we are and then be reborn into something new. So, what do you say?"

Harry smiled then and somehow, someway, it was the same strange little smile.

"I say we do it."

"Fantastic!"

And suddenly the man was running all around what Harry now somehow knew to be the control console of the T.A.R.D.I.S, whatever that was, pushing at buttons and pulling at levers and whatnot. He looked quite a lot like a mad scientist, sort of like the guy in that old Frankenstein movie Harry had once caught a glimpse of when he was a child. It made him smile fondly at the stranger.

"I don't even know your name" The boy said it just as he realized it.

The man turned around, his hand just over a button and about to press it, a mad grin splitting his face and eyes alight in mischief.

"Oh, you can call me the Doctor" The man said, and then he pushed the button, the central pillar started to move, the light becoming stronger, the sound of an engine that wouldn't start filled the place, and then the darkness came.

That was when Harry Potter died.

**NOTE OF IMPORTANCE: **I believe I wrote in my last AN that this would be AU after Doctor Who Season 3…that is as of now INCORRECT. Yeah, I just had to go and watch the ending of season 4, so now not only was I all a bit…weepy and emotional, but I've also had my ideas for this fic rather influenced, I just can't help it. So, just so it's all clear now for everyone, the 10th Doctor didn't die and regenerate at the end of End of Time part 2, instead he used the chameleon arch and became human…he wasn't dying from the radiation (or maybe he was, I haven't entirely decided on this point) but he had just basically sentenced his people to death for the second time and had essentially become the last of his kind (also for the second time). More will be explained in the story as we go along, though, so please be patient and ask if you have any questions and I'll answer them (so long as they don't give away the plot for future chapters and stuff, of course).

Well, that and ''Thank you very much for your reviews, they are deeply appreciated and I don't know what I would do without your input and encouragement'' is about all I had to say so…

See you all next chapter!


	4. Who?

**Disclaimer: **Nope, sadly enough (at least for me) I own neither Harry Potter nor Doctor Who. I am merely a writer with far too much time on her hands and a rather large fascination with both fandoms. I am also not in any way, shape or form, profiting from writing this stories.

**Inheritance**

_By BlackBlade_

… Who?

Ouch. Ouch. Pain. Headache. Pain…was someone pounding at his head with a mallet or something? Was it a hangover? Oh, gods, he hoped not, he hadn't had to deal with a hangover in the last couple of centuries and he had very much hoped to keep that record. Still, whatever the bloody hell it was, it was bloody killing him.

One bleary green eye opened reluctantly, and a rather undignified pained groan escaped him as he (stupidly, he might add) tried to sit up. It didn't quite work and he only ended up falling back down and getting his headache all the worse for it.

"You okay, mate? You just passed out a minute ago and you wouldn't wake up. Was it…was it you-know-who?" A voice asked in the darkness, hesitant and a bit scared, if he was reading it right. It was a familiar voice, one he felt he should be able to place without any effort at all.

Right now though, he couldn't quite remember what his own face should look like, never mind someone else's. Oh, his head was splitting open or something. And no, mysterious voice in the dark, he do not know who, or what or when or why…wait, what was the question again?

"Harry, can you hear me? Harry?" And this time the words were accompanied by rather frenzied shaking of his shoulder, which jostled the rest of him and, as impossible as it seemed, made his headache worse…which he did not appreciate.

Wait. Pause. Harry. Yeah, he knew that word, that name. Was it his name? Yeah, that sounded about right…but wait, no that couldn't be his name because his name was hidden and no one was supposed to know. Secret name. Secret. Secret.

"Yeah, m'fine just…headache" He answered, not even thinking about it, too busy trying to make sense of his own thoughts.

Yes, his name was Harry, Harry Potter. It had been his name for the last seventeen years. But before then, he'd had another name…many names now that he thought about it. But then again, he was _born_ seventeen years ago…before then he didn't _exist_. Except that he did, different, completely different from what he now was, but still existing.

It was then that the memories finally rushed back and wasn't that just _lovely_ on an already overloaded mind. He sat up instantly, back arching and muscles tense and quivering from the incredible, unimaginable, unbearable _pain._ There was just _so much_, too much for any human mind to possibly hold all at once. He was going to die, he was going to _burn._

But he didn't, he didn't because while no human could possibly survive this, he _wasn't _human. Not completely, at least. His partially opened eyes could easily make out the bright golden light his body was generating, a beacon in the grim darkness. He could also hear a couple of surprised yelps from whoever else shared this dark prison with him, but he couldn't really spare a thought for them at the moment, he was much too busy trying _not to burn_.

It wasn't a regeneration, thankfully, because he wasn't really dying (even though it felt like it), but his body _was_ changing at a genetic level, becoming something that it wasn't actually supposed to be, something in between two similar but very different species.

_Half Human, half Time Lord_

He gave another pained cry as a larger and final burst of energy broke free, the pain rippling through his body like a thousand burning needles, for just a second. And then it was over, finally and mercifully over. The golden light vanished, what seemed like particles of it dispersing in the air until they were gone. His body sagged in blessed relief from the pain and he ended up lying on the floor once again, panting for breath and trying very, very hard not to be sick. Well, wasn't that just a lovely experience? He really must pull stunts like that more often. _Not._

"Blimey! What the bloody hell was that! Harry, Harry! You alright?" The same person who had spoken to him before said, but this time there was no confusion over who that was, not anymore, not with the full set of assimilated memories…well, mostly assimilated memories. Ron, his friend Ron, ginger Ron, brave Ron.

"Oh, yeah"

* * *

"So you're saying we're gonna break out, rescue Hermione and escape from this stupid Manor somehow?" The red-head asked, sounding quite a bit more cynic than was absolutely necessary, in the newly awakened half-Time Lord's not-so-humble opinion.

"For the thousandth time yes, now please let me have some peace and quite while I work" He bit out, none too gently. He was trying not to be rude, but really! Could they not see that trying to pick a lock with noting but a stupidly short piece of old rusted wire while in complete and utter darkness was not that easy a job? Sure he could do it, no problem…so long as he could concentrate!

And Ron's snort of disbelief did not make for a good environment for said concentration. At least Luna and the old man were mostly silent, though the blond would occasionally break into distracted (although admittedly nice and in-tune) humming. Not Ron, though, Ron had to be giving in to the hopelessness of the situation and trying to drag everyone else with him.

At least he did, until Hermione's screams started. They could hear she was being tortured and they could hear why. It was his fault, all his fault and by all the stars in the sky, he was going to fix it. Apparently _now_ his redheaded friend was at least willing to try and help with the escape plan. And it also appeared that hearing a friend suffer because of one's stupid mistakes was a rather powerful motivation that exponentially increased one's lock-picking abilities. It was no more than a minute after the screaming started that the ancient-looking lock gave a soft _click_.

Immediately, the green-eyed half-wizard got up from his (very uncomfortable) crouch by the door and, after stopping Ron's rather desperate attempt to charge outside, turned to his cell companions, whose silhouettes he could barely make out in the darkness.

"Alright, here's the plan" He began, his voice steady and firm though the volume was almost that of a whisper, cautious of being heard by their captors. "We are going to…"

But whatever they were going to do, the others never found out because his master plan speech was interrupted by a rather familiar popping sound. And there, smack-dab in the middle of a cell in a supposedly warded and unplottable Manor was a very familiar, very happy, and just slightly crazy house elf.

"Master Harry Potter sir! Dobby has come to save you, Dobby has!" The little creature exclaimed happily, though somehow able to sense that he shouldn't shout with his usual enthusiasm and keeping his voice to an (admittedly louder than necessary but otherwise acceptable) excited whispering.

"Dobby!" 'Master Harry Potter sir' replied with just about the same enthusiasm as the little elf. "Brilliant! Just the elf I needed!" He exclaimed happily.

He crouched down next to the elf, suddenly once again deadly serious, and placed on hand on the little creature's shoulder. "Dobby I need you help with something extremely important and I don't think I could trust anyone else to do it"

If possible the house-elf seemed even more delighted, more so than ever actually, and nodded his head so hard and fast that it was easy to believe it would just fly off any moment now. "Dobby will! Master Harry Potter sir can ask Dobby to do anything and Dobby will!"

He grinned, a grin that was a mixture of relief and happiness and gratefulness at the little elf that had made this whole rescue operation infinitely easier. "Excellent Dobby. Now first thing, I need you to take this lot somewhere safe…you popped in through the wards so you can pop out again, right?"

The elf nodded enthusiastically once again and was about to speak the affirmative when a protest interrupted him.

"What and leave you and Hermione behind? That's not gonna happen Harry!"

The brunette sighed and turned to look at his friend, or at whatever dim form of his friend he could make out in the darkness. "Listen Ron, we don't have much time and I really, really need you to go with them. Hermione and I will follow, I promise." And there was such conviction on his voice, such an absolute confidence that what he said would happen, that it managed to stop Ron's protests.

Well, at least long enough for Dobby, who already had both Luna's and Ollivander's hands firmly held in one of his, to reach out towards the ginger teen and pop out before anymore said protest could be made. The elf's sneakiness made him crack a grin. Oh, was Ron going to be angry later on…wait, he was probably very, very angry right now. Which is precisely why it didn't come as a surprise to him that Dobby popped back just 6 seconds after first leaving…poor thing was probably afraid of getting yelled at by an irate red-head.

"That was just brilliant Dobby" He praised, still grinning.

He could hear Dobby wringing his hand on his clothes nervously. "Dobby thinks Harry Potter's Weezy didn't like it."

"Well, no." He conceded easily. "But then, people don't usually like whatever is best for them. You did great Dobby, thank you. Now I need you to pay attention coz we are gonna rescue Hermione and I will really need your help. Here's what we're going to do…"

* * *

It seemed that, as a rule in general, evil people enjoyed the sound of their own voices a bit too much for their own good. But then, evil people also tended to have bigger psychological problems than just auditory narcissism, so it usually got overlooked, no one commented on it and the evil people carried on blabbing on and on…and on.

A certain madwoman by the name of Bellatrix Lestrange seemed to be no different, as she apparently enjoyed tormenting her prey with taunting words just as much as she did physically torturing them.

It was in the middle of this sadistic game (which apparently had the spectators rather focused on it) that a certain black-haired green-eyed boy stumbled rather clumsily upon, falling though the doorway and landing on his hands and knees, eyes wide in panic and mouth slightly open in fear. Apparently the intrusion was unexpected enough that no one reacted as swiftly as they should have and, by the time the befuddlement left their heads, the escapee was running back into the room he'd come from.

"After him!" Sounded the shrill scream from the maddest madwoman herself, followed immediately by the sound of feet pounding against the floor as the others hurried to comply.

Of course, the poor prisoner didn't make it far, only halfway to the next room before someone threw a locking charm at the door that would have been his escape, trapping him in what seemed to be a very posh sitting room, the other door blocked by a veritable wall of evil people.

"Itty baby Potter thought he could run, did he?" Bellatrix mocked, her voice taking on that childish tone that so annoyed him.

"Oh, no. 'Itty baby Potter' did get to run and so did the lot of you, ran off your torture room, you did, and left your victims all alone too, very bad form, that" The boy said, all fear and panic now gone from both his eyes and his voice. In fact, his tone carried a distinct mocking to it, and his lips were curving just the slightest bit into a smirk.

It seemed that good old Lucius was the first to figure it out, turning to look at the room they had all just vacated to find it empty, completely empty. Hermione and Griphook were gone, taken to safety by Dobby the moment the baddies had ran after their bigger prey. Apparently, though, Lucius didn't appreciate being shown up in his own home and, with a snarl of rage that one would expect from Greyback instead of the composed aristocrat, pointed his wand menacingly at the only prisoner left, though the effect was somewhat lost due to the fact that everyone else had already leveled their wands at said prisoner.

The aforementioned prisoner stared at the wand and then at its owner's eyes, and there was not one shred of fear in the sea of green, not one trace of it. In fact, his eyes carried a dark look in them, like shadows that swirled and swam across the usually bright green…like storm clouds. It was a look that belonged on a much older man…a much older and much more dangerous man; a look of warning, that told of great and painful consequences should its wielder be opposed. It honestly gave everyone in that room the shivers.

"Call the Dark Lord, call him now." The blonde man ordered at once, secretly deciding that he did _not_ want to deal with this teenager all of the sudden, but also not wanting the boy to pull of some other miracle and actually escape now that they had finally caught him.

"Oh, I wouldn't do that if I were you." The not-frightened prisoner said, calms as though they were discussing the weather. "Not unless you _actually_ enjoy getting Crucio'ed."

"W-what?" And the squeaky question had of course come from the youngest member of the evil people club, the blonde boy who had once been a classmate of Harry's.

"Well, yeah." The brunette said with a 'duh' sort of voice. "What do you think he's gonna do when he finds out we've got that sword" And as he spoke the words, his mask of nonchalance melted into one of positively impish delight and mischief.

Truth was that he had no idea why exactly they were not supposed to have the sword and why it was so bad that they did, but Bellatrix had sounded decidedly _terrified_ that they had gotten it from her Gringotts Vault, not angry or indignant, but terrified. And there was only one person in this world that could terrify Bellatrix Lestrange…who also happened to be the one person said mad-lady did not want to disappoint.

"He's going to know you've _failed him._" The boy taunted, his smirk growing into one that would completely terrify even the worst of his old enemies…and rightly so.

The mad witch flinched as though she'd been slapped and, for just a moment, the hate and insanity in her eyes cleared into panicked understanding. Oh, yeah, she was getting the idea now. What she had here was an extremely awkward and difficult choice. She could either do her duty and call her Lord, only to earn his disappointment and wrath when he found out she'd failed him or she could waste a perfectly good opportunity at showing how loyal and able she was by claiming to have captured Harry Potter. Either way she was going to loose, but she would have to choose the lesser of two evils, and that always took time. Time was all he needed.

"Ah. Now we find ourselves in a good old Mexican stand-off, I love those, they get the adrenaline going." The half-wizard exclaimed happily, moving towards an expensive looking armchair, easily ignoring the fact that every pointed wand followed his movement even as he sat down and made himself comfortable. "Though, it wouldn't be a Mexican stand-off unless I was pointing a weapon at you too."

And just as he finished speaking, Dobby the elf popped back in, just behind one of the still unidentified 'Snatchers' and promptly grabbed and then bit the poor man's arm. The elf wasted no time in taking the man's wand (which the poor sod had let go off as he was attacked by a positively vicious little elf) and throwing it in the general direction of the occupied armchair before swiftly diving under a sofa, just barely avoiding a barrage of different-colored lights as the others reacted to the snatcher's pained scream at being bitten.

Soon enough spells were flying towards the not-quite-escaped prisoner, who quickly threw all his weight backwards and made the armchair turn, half-wizard and all, and then proceeded to use the kinetic energy from the fall to roll away from anything harmful and towards the pilfered wand. He took the piece of wood safely in his hand and dove for safety behind another random piece of furniture, throwing out spells as soon as there was a reprieve on the barrage coming his way.

He threw himself away from his cover and towards another, shouting out 'Expelliarmus!' as he did. Just as he had aimed for, the spell hit Malfoy Junior, who had stopped casting a moment ago and found himself utterly caught by surprise when he lost both his own wand and the extra two he'd been holding. Ron and Hermione's…and the last piece of his rescue plan. He caught them mid-air, his reflexes almost prefect from years of playing Quidditch as well as from…well, from catching flying stuff in general.

Unfortunately his new hiding place was quickly blown to bits by a positively enraged Bellatrix, throwing him backwards, into the open, and also managing to injure him with pieces of broken wood. He cried out, more surprised than pained due to the almost flood of adrenaline his body had produced by now, as he found himself lying on his back, bleeding and with no cover from spellfire.

Thankfully, he was saved from what would have most likely been a very unpleasant fate as Dobby the house elf dove towards him, grabbed his foot and popped out of the room. His good luck, however, didn't last long, as the furious mad-witch threw a last little present at him. The last thing he saw as the room faded into momentary darkness, a sharp, silver knife.

**NOTE OF IMPORTANCE: **

Now, maybe because of his attitude in this chapter, it'd be easy to think that Harry has just completely turned into the Doctor, which I assure you, is not true. Yes, he's got quite a bit of the Time Lord's personality, not to mention his memories and everything…and when you compare that to the experiences and mind of a 17 year old, it's easy for one to be overwhelmed by the other during times of stress…such as, I dunno…being held by a bunch of evil people. However, you can still see bits and pieces that are purely Harry's, one example would be his…let's say "great dislike", for Bellatrix. I'm not sure if it was noticeable, but he really enjoyed taunting her and messing with her head and while the Doctor does that every once in a while, its never really been quite as…human as what we saw here, enjoying watching someone squirm like that and holding a grudge against someone (albeit one completely justified, in this case) is a very human thing to do and the Doctor doesn't normally allow himself to behave like that. So no, who we saw here is not the Doctor, but he'd also not Harry either (please note that I was very careful not to call him Harry in the narrative in this chapter, which by the way was a real pain in the rear, for that very same reason). He's both of them and someone completely new at the same time, sort of…its complicated.

Anyways, enough rambling from the mad author, see you all next chapter!


	5. I Am

**Disclaimer: **Nope, sadly enough (at least for me) I own neither Harry Potter nor Doctor Who. I am merely a writer with far too much time on her hands and a rather large fascination with both fandoms. I am also not in any way, shape or form, profiting from writing this stories.

**Inheritance**

_By BlackBlade_

…I Am

* * *

There were a lot of pretty swirling colors and nice glowing lights. It was almost like…like a galaxy being born, yeah, all new and shiny but still unshaped, just getting there. There was also pain, but that was nowhere near as pretty and enjoyable so he wasn't focusing on that, the not-galaxy-being-born was much better. Idly, in some remote corner of his mind that was not being used for something more important (like comparing his not-galaxy to known galaxies in their different states of being during different time periods, just to see if it resembled any actual galaxy at any actual time, just because it was fun) he wondered how often it was that he woke up in pain. Actually, he was using the term 'wake up' rather loosely here. He was not actually entirely conscious, but he was getting there…slowly.

And, as if the thought had somehow jinxed his blissful existence of not-galaxy-watching, a sudden jolt of burning pain assaulted his entire being and brought him back to the land of the awake. He moaned miserably, unable to contain the sound as all his limbs (and he was pretty sure even his nails and hair) protested his being brought to painful consciousness.

Instantly, there was someone at his side, brushing his hair out of his eyes and gently rubbing his face with a wet towel, probably to wash sweat and grime off him; he certainly felt sweaty and grimy enough to merit it. He made the excruciating effort of cracking open one eye, just the bare minimum to get an idea of who it was, to get an idea of his situation. Hermione's untamable bush of hair was unmistakable and he couldn't help but smile in relief; if she was taking care of him, then she was probably not in too bad a state from her own ordeal…hopefully.

"Harry James Potter! Don't you ever do that again, you hear me! You scared me half to death." And there was the obligatory rant/scolding that he knew would be coming, he was practically counting on it. Fortunately, Hermione seemed to know, with that bizarre _knowing_ of hers that if he didn't know better he would say had something to do with Divination, that he had a killer headache and so her usual yelling was more of a frantic whispering.

"M'fine." He protested. It was a poor effort at beast, but his throat was parched, he was hurting and he really was not in the mood to defend his actions.

"Fine? Fine?" The frantic whispering rose into irritated not-quite-shout. Hermione was clearly trying to contain herself, and clearly failing. She was taking deep breaths now.

"You weren't breathing! You _died_!" She half-hissed, half-sobbed.

_That_ made him pause. Quickly, he closed his eyes and took stock of his body, trying to figure out what exactly had happened this time; also dedicating a tiny portion of his brain to mentally beating himself for not doing this sooner, as soon as he'd woken up.

Right. So he was malnourished and a bit dehydrated, not exactly surprising considering their life on the run these last few months, he had more than a few cuts and bruises, also not surprising but they were healing nicely and should be gone soon enough, but what truly called his attention was the bloody _stab wound _and…oh. Punctured lung.

Well, that explains it then. He recalled suddenly and with agonizing clarity the silver knife Bellatrix-the-mad-lady-Lestrange had thrown at him and Dobby, he also remembered a moment of truly awful pain just as he and the house elf landed on some…beach, was it? Then there was just blackness. So, he was stabbed, blacked out, his friends found them and freaked out and he stopped breathing…for how long?

Oh. _Oh_.

"Respiratory bypass. Yeah, I do that sometimes." He said, not really thinking about it, not _wanting_ to think about it.

Hermione gave him one of those odd looks she did whenever she though him and/or Ron were trying to copy her notes or do anything similarly worthy of her disapproval. He answered with his best, serious, innocent, sick-man-in-bed look.

"I think you might have a concussion." Said the witch, apparently not at all convinced that he was genuinely speaking the truth…and why would she, really?

"Well, he did hit his head, back in the forest when you cursed him, and then there was the whole thing with the Snatchers and then he lost a lot of blood, can't have helped, can it?" Ron's voice sounded from a corner of the room, slowly moving closer until he was sure the redhead was at his bedside. He opened one eye again and yes indeed, there was a redhead at his bedside.

"I'm not delusional." He responded, quite proud of himself over the fact that he sounded only mildly offended.

Ron snorted that Ron-snort of incredulity that usually made him laugh, it was just a lot funnier when you weren't the butt-end of the joke. He gave the redhead a one-eye emerald glare that he could tell almost earned him another Ron-snort if not for the elbow Hermione planted in said redhead's ribs. Good old Hermione always defending the down-trodden, and that apparently included Harry-in-his-deathbed.

He contemplated. Opened both his eyes and watched his friends and Ron gave Hermione that indignant 'why-did-you-do-that-for?' look, to which she responded with an almost fondly exasperated 'you're-a-prat' look. They were his friends. For almost seven years now they had almost been the center of his life and now…now what? Would…would _this_ change it?

It was strange. At first he'd felt like he was two people at once and they were both _pulling and pushing and tearing him apart!_ It was confusing and painful in his head and it had nearly driven him mad. But now… now he no longer felt so _torn_, a bit divided yes, but really you could hardly blame him for that. He wondered why.

The movement at his bedside caught his attention back to his companions, his friends, and that's when it all made _sense_. He recalled, back in the place of pretty colors and dancing lights, that he hadn't know who or what he was. Was he Human? Was he Time Lord? Was he some hybrid monstrosity? It had been confusing and painful and so he had tried to forget, hence the distraction of the not-galaxy. But then, as soon as he'd awoken he'd _known_, even without making any conscious decision.

He'd known Ron and Hermione to be his friends. _His_ friends, not _Harry's _friends. He had opened the watch as Harry because Harry needed it and the world needed Harry. He _was _Harry. A bit different, and obviously with a few added organs but still Harry. Well, that was most certainly a relief, he did not want to deal with an existential or identity crisis right now on top of everything else.

"Harry." Hermione said, softly, a bit hesitantly.

He instantly turned at the mention of his name, _his name_, and waited patiently for the witch to speak, as she was obviously still making up her mind.

"What…what happened? You really…I mean. You really _did _die. I checked and Bill and Fleur did, your lung was…was pun-puctured and your weren't breathing then your heart stopped for a moment, but then it started again, but you still weren't breathing. You didn't breathe for all of thirty minutes, while we re-repaired the lu-lung and you're still a-alive." By the end of her broken explanation Hermione was sobbing again and there were tears she was obviously trying to contain but failing miserably.

Harry felt torn again. The blurting out about the respiratory bypass had been accidental, and they'd taken it to be the crazy ramblings of a concussion-affected teen. But if he told them, if he explained everything in cold, hard fact and detail there was simply no way they could deny the evidence, Ron had even seen the golden lights of the Time Vortex in that cellar. If he told them, they'd know he was…different.

He remembered, because he _was_ Harry, that he had only ever wanted to be just Harry, but he wasn't and he never would be. He also remembered that there two had been with him through most of the worst days of his life, all three of them had faltered here and there but they'd held in the end. He had to hope, to believe, that they would not falter now.

"I didn't die. I just…" He sighed and then took a deep breath, as though somehow taking strength in the oxygen to tell his tale. "I have a respiratory bypass system, when the knife pierced the lung, it kicked in and kept me alive. The bit about my heart stopping was probably from shock, my body's not exactly in top condition right now."

And just as he'd expected, Hermione's mouth was already open and ready to launch into what would surely be a very lengthy and detailed lecture on human anatomy. He spoke quickly, because he knew that if she started it would only be harder to not only stop her but to start his own lecture again…he wasn't sure he could gather the courage a second time.

"I'm not human. Not entirely. Not anymore." He said it without emotion, as neutral as could be, but his eyes looked into theirs, and pleaded, _begged_ them to believe him.

He told them his tale, on an ancient being of an ancient race who decided to hide as a human. He told them of how Charlus Potter had been more than just a wizard and how that something had been hidden in his DNA ("His blood, Ron, meaning it can be inherited like eye or hair color") and in a family heirloom. He told them of receiving said heirloom in his birthday and then, finally, of how it spoke to him in the cellar ("Blimey, mate! You should know better than to speak with inanimate objects like that, after what happened with Ginny!") and promised to help. He told them of what his opening of the watch meant, and what he had been, what he was, what he'd decided he would be.

"Oh, Harry! It-It's just…It's!" Hermione was apparently at a loss for words, which as far as his memory could tell (and his memory was very good now) hadn't happened very often at all.

"It's very hard to believe, I know." He said, his voice as soft and peaceful as he could make it even though his throat was still hurting (they had gotten him water ages ago, but his tale had been a long one) "But it's the truth."

"I'm not saying I don't believe you. I do! It's just…Merlin, Harry, It could have completely taken over you! Do you realize that?" She was back to yelling now, and he was thankful that she'd been thoughtful enough to throw a silencing charm at the door about half an hour ago, when he'd started discussing Time Vortexes and Time Lords.

"And…how do we know it didn't?" The question was asked very hesitantly, almost ashamed, and came from the corner to which Ron had retired just about five minutes in to The Tale.

Harry felt a jolt of something that could only be called Heart-shattering Pain hit his chest, making his heart do a funny little flip that made him wince. He should have expected it, really. In fact, he kind of did. They had no reason to not believe that this 'Time Lord' creature of which they had never heard before had not in fact taken over their friend and he would be the first to admit that the fob watch was indeed very similar to a Horcrux, at least to a wizard. But the accusation still hurt.

He could see Hermione taking another deep breath, bristling and probably about to berate Ronald. He didn't want her to, not so soon after their latest reconciliation and the long minutes of torture they had spent in the Manor; Ron listening to Hermione scream without being able to do anything, Hermione being tortured just because of who her parents were and who she was friends with. Yeah, he owed them better than that.

"_He_ didn't. He had no reason to. It's why he turned himself human in the first place, he was tired of being himself. He wouldn't even have revealed himself to me, like he didn't with my father and grandfather, but he could sense how desperate the situation was and how much I needed his help. The decision to open the watch and merge was done entirely by the Harry you knew, the one from _before_, of his own free will." He explained, trying, willing them to _understand._

"And..who…who are you, then, exactly? The Harry after?" Asked Hermione, hesitant but accepting. Ron nodded from his place in the corner, wary but curious.

"I am…Harry. Or rather, what Harry could have been if he'd been a Time Lord, more or less…half Time Lord? I am Harry with a few added…things. A few extra memories, a bit of a bigger brain and a respiratory bypass system…but essentially still Harry. I'm the same person you met at the Hogwarts Express, the same one you battled a mountain troll with, and followed the clues to the Philosopher's Stone with. I'm the same person for whom you confronted an escaped mass murderer and a werewolf. I'm the same person you've spent the past few months following, because you believed in me even when there was little hope and everything seemed lost. Please, I really need you to believe in me _now._"

"I do, Harry, we do." Hermione was quick to reassure, he was actually more reassured by Ron's minute nod than by her soft words, but still it was nice of her. "You just have to admit that it's a bit…" she made a vague gesture with her hand there, apparently at a loss on how to describe it.

"Utterly and completely bonkers, is what it is." Chimed Ron helpfully, earning himself another exasperated-Hermione-glare. "What? It is!" The redhead defended himself.

Harry chuckled, unable to help himself at this little bit of normalcy in this overwhelming sea of chaos and oddness. It was nice. "Yeah, I reckon you guys might think I'm a bit of a nutter, I certainly sound like one."

"Just a bit." Ron said again, this time making Hermione forego the glare and go straight to smacking the back of his head. "Ow! I was just saying, Merlin's balls, woman, no need to attack a bloke."

And Harry could tell, with a talent born from hours of watching this very same scene, although with minuscule and unimportant differences, over and over again for the last seven years, that Hermione was about to start a rant; this time probably in defense of Harry…or Harry's sanity at least. He didn't normally mind all that much, in fact, he might have actually enjoyed watching her tear into their friend in his defense, had not a sudden, mad idea, hit him.

"I know!" It was a testament of how loud and unexpected his shout was that both Ron and Hermione jumped at least a foot off the floor. He didn't pay their sudden acrobatics any mind though, too caught up in his plan. "You guys want proof that I haven't gone bonkers? I'll give you proof!" He said excitedly, sitting up and putting on his shoes, mindful of his still rather sore…well, everything.

"Err…are we going somewhere, Harry?" Asked a suddenly hesitant Hermione.

"'Course we are!" He said, by now at the door and throwing the two a look of utter mischief with just a touch of madness that really did nothing for his claiming of sanity. "I'm taking you to the greatest place in the universe…the TARDIS!" He cried happily and walked out.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** So there, finally an actual update . I'm sorry it takes me this long but I am really, really busy with my thesis (yes, _finally_ working on it, one step closer to getting my degree people!) and do you have any idea how complicated ecological niche modeling is? I didn't until I tried. But anyways, this chapter is over and done with. Not much happening in it, I'm afraid…but next chapter…the TARDIS! And a bit of action and complications, I promise :D

Also, I wanted to say that for some bizarre reason I shall be investigating, my account had anonymous review turned off, even though I distinctly remember having turned them on ages ago when I first started writing here. Anyways, I've corrected the problem so now anyone who wants to leave a review can and I would be very grateful if you did.

See you all next chapter!


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